She Liked Purple
by spiralnoteboooks
Summary: After a long day, Beckett sits alone, wondering what this case says about her and the city she has chosen to protect.


What a long day.

Beckett clutches a cup of coffee in her hands, though it is no longer warm. She drinks it anyway, partially because she needs something to do to keep her from spinning, but also because she's pretty sure Javi slipped in a little something when she wasn't looking. She takes another sip. Yes-only Javi keeps a flash of gin in his right hand drawer taped under a precinct employee emergency handbook.

Beckett becomes aware that she is one of the few left in the building-Gates had left wordlessly, a few hours ago. Ryan had rushed out as soon as the case had closed to go check on Molly. After the departure of his drinking buddy, Esposito had left, mumbling something involving strong alcohol. Laine had offered to stay, but had finally gone to hail a cab so she could 'respect some serious me time after this shit job.' Beckett smiles, just a little. She hopes they're together. She'll have to grill them tomorrow. She has no idea where Castle is-he had told her, but now she doesn't remember what he said. And that leaves Beckett, sitting alone, pretending to put the finishing touches on a report before she packs up for the night, but really just drinking spiked coffee and waiting.

She realizes that, in a way, the report will always be unfinished. There will be the facts- date of birth, time and place of death, victim's name and address-before the file will go to the basement and be shoved next hundreds of others, all obscured in the same brown. But the other things-like the fact that this girl loved purple, or hated the heat, or that she wanted to loose 5 pounds, or that she loved a boy named Kyle, or that she was saving her allowance money for a prom dress, just in case Kyle asked her (which he never got to do)-none of this got written down. Just the facts.

Beckett knows the world isn't fair. In the end, they caught the bad guys. Because that was what Precinct does. Catch the bad guys. Except for sometimes, the bad guys are just young and confused and manipulated, and the capital Bad Guy turns out to be just as disillusioned and broken as his underlings.

And in the end, after all the late nights and cups of coffee (with the absence of alcohol, thank you very much), it still isn't enough. The girl still dies. Bad Guy is in custody now, but somewhere, probably about 15 minutes away from Beckett's table, two parents won't be able to sleep because they have lost their child. And that grief doesn't end just because Beckett will come in tomorrow and do the same thing all over again, hopefully with a very different outcome. Beckett knows.

Maybe Bad Guy would have killed again, maybe not. Maybe she had saved another life. She did her job, she did it well. She caught Bad Guy. Bad Guy is punished. But then again, the fact that Bad Guy will be sitting in jail doesn't change the fact that if she had been 10 minutes earlier, or if she had connected the dots a little sooner, a girl would still be saving her allowance money to go to prom.

"Hey."

There's a warm hand on her back, and she knows before she turns around that its him. He speaks before she does.

"Ready to go home?"

She's not sure whose home he means-hers of his. She doesn't really care. She just wants to be away from here. She nods, grabs her coat, and remembers the open file. After a moments thought, she scribbles something underneath 'additional notes.'

"Yeah. All done."

Castle peeks over her shoulder. "She liked purple, huh?"

Beckett nods, her head feeling heavy. Maybe that gin wasn't such a good idea after all.

He doesn't say anything, just picks up the file as he watches her knot her scarf around her neck.

"Should I put this somewhere?"

"No, just leave it. Esposito or Ryan will get in the morning, hopefully before Gates."

He closes the file and puts it back on the table. They walk down the hallway to the elevator, and she slips her hand in his. He looks down at her, eyebrows raised in question. She simply shakes her head. This secrecy was once a necessity, and it was exciting, but now it just makes her tired. She doesn't want to pretend. When they reach the elevator, she starts, "Castle-"

But she stops herself. She's not a twelve year old. She doesn't need a hug.

"Are you OK?"

She looks up at him-he knows the answer, but he's a good enough man to ask anyway.

"No."

He pulls her into him and she feels his breath on her hair when he whispers, "Yeah, me neither. I'm sorry, Kate." They stand like that for a minute-she smells his cologne, and his suit jacket scratches her, and she doesn't quite fit under his chin with her heels-but it feels good anyway. She breaks away first. "Are we going home?"

"Yeah." He smiles, and drapes and arm over her. She lets her head fall on his shoulder. And they make their way home like that-two adults navigating a world that makes them feel as incompetent as children, both weighed by guilt and anxiety. Neither says a word. And when they're finally sitting on his couch, drinking their evening wine and warming themselves by a fire, a million miles away from all the violence, the failure, the broken illusion of the ability to fix without breaking, she doesn't complain when he finds her hand with his. She just lets her head find his shoulder once more, and respects the silence.


End file.
